The biggest problem with being bummed out is accepting that you have absolutely nothing to complain about. It's like a slap in the face when all you want is a needle in your arm or an empty bottle slowly slipping out between your fingers, falling down, down, for an eternity, a full on year of travel from your hand to the ground, until *smash* - it bursts into a million tiny pieces, flecks of glass hanging in your leg hair and collecting in your pant cuffs. A slap in the face isn't nearly as absorbing.
Nevertheless, when you make these realizations you are given a brief chance at the wheel, an opportunity to wrestle the behemoth of your life towards the direction you want it to be going - even if it's only part way there. It's progress. And even though progress is a shady idea invented by some street schister, a measure of sticks and stones and piles of things and certificates, you can still choose to own the term for yourself and weigh your worth on a scale of your imagination.
Directionless? Stuck in a boat that is adrift on the waves, sliding down the faces of giant swells only to be twisted around, spun like a dreidel, and lifted up atop white-caped crests? Feeling a little seasick?.. Then try what my niece does:
- Stop spinning
- With your hands out to your sides, reacquire your balance
- Slowly raise your head and look up at the stars
- Puke up your cotton candy - preferrably on someone more authoritive than yourself
If these steps do not lead you directly to all the answers you've been searching for in life than at least you'll feel a little different than you did before. Maybe it'll even pull your mind out of the ditch and get it heading down the road. Even if it doesn't know where it's going.
The hidden proverb in the alphabet soup there is that directionless or no, movement is necessary in life. Inanimate objects are just that. Signposts along the way. Oddities to be quizically stared at while taking a picnic on the side of the road, head cocked to the side, wondering
seriously, what is up with that thing just sitting there, not moving an inch? Even ice cream drips down it's cone. So if in doubt get up and run around. Sweat a little. Throw things.
They tell me most sharks would die if they stopped swimming.. and you know what that means? They'd never get to have another ice cream cone again.
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the guys: philogynist jaime tony - the gals:raymi raspil
